


Tournesols Pour Une Tombe

by AQuietThinker



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton Dies, Angst, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, Dead Alexander Hamilton, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Flowers, Grief/Mourning, Minor Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Other, graves, graveyards, unusual friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:28:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28898163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AQuietThinker/pseuds/AQuietThinker
Summary: How funny, death was. He'd never fought in a war, but knew how delicate a life could be.Human beings were powerless against it- Illness had cost him people he loved too many times, and psychological destruction was also a terrible path to hell he had witnessed on people.But never on Hamilton.(Thomas pays Hamilton's grave a visit)
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & Thomas Jefferson, Alexander Hamilton/Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler, Thomas Jefferson & Elizabeth "Eliza" Schuyler
Comments: 4
Kudos: 22





	Tournesols Pour Une Tombe

**Author's Note:**

> I posted a fic on the Yellow Fever and Hamilton some time ago and people really liked it, which got me inspiered for this next, rather sad, piece.

The bouquet of flowers bore more resemblance to a corsage rather than a proper arrangement, but he supposed its meaning would be a big enough excuse. Unlike Martha, he knew little of the symbolism behind each plant, and had chosen them based on their colour schemes rather than meaning. With a dominant shade of yellow, the bouquet stood out against the snow in a nearly repulsive way, but the contrasts did not matter. He was here to pay respects to a man, not the weather.

Finding the grave was not difficult, but rather the lowering temperatures of the evening. Night would fall in less than an hour, and his coat was too thin to withstand the inevitable snowfall.

The graveyard was deserted except for the random crunching of branches, giving him enough privacy

How funny, death was. He'd never fought in a war, but knew how delicate a life could be. The point of a bayonet was not necessary to kill a man- just a slip on ice could provoke the loss of life, a crack of a spine, a small wound with enough pus to cost a leg, and eventually one's whole body.

Human beings were powerless against it- Illness had cost him people he loved too many times, and psychological destruction was also a terrible path to hell he had witnessed on people.

But never on Hamilton.

No matter his small size, Hamilton fought with every spec of strength to make himself be heard, burning a passionate fire that sometimes caught those around him in harm's way, eventually digging his own early grave. But said fire was also a complex, beautiful thing- it was what maintained the young, crumbling economy from slipping the country into the abyss of debt, what made him an excellent partner for heated debates, what gave his political life a flare of spice, of excitement for whatever words the young immigrant would say next.

He'd seen Hamilton plagued by illness a few times- once at the beginning of Philadelphia's Yellow Death, where, while maintaining his unsatisfied and raging fire, his body had become dull in the fervent yellow ache that struck down so many. 

Another time had been done to collapse- a sight that scared him more than he cared to admit. Arguing, they were, biting insults and shooting them back as easy as they came, but a detail has escaped him. Perhaps they would have avoided such a scene if Thomas noticed how tired Alexander had appeared to be, but at the moment he wouldn't consider him a close friend.

What a pity, for their friendship, if it was to be called that, to last so briefly.

When he finally reached the grave, he lowered himself to his knees, feeling the snow soak against his coat but not caring. Gloved hands made a small space in the white texture until a spot of dying grass appeared. He placed the small bouquet there, it’s tone contrasting to the backgrounds.

“I did once say your words would dig your own grave, didn't I, Alexander?”

Something inside his chest twisted- a foreign feeling , private and small yet tremendously impactful.

He sighed, leaning his head against his chest. “I'm sorry I was not able to stop you- had I known something…”

What could he have possibly done? He was not told of the duel until Hamilton had practically minutes left to live, rushing into the home to find Mrs. Hamilton sobbing silently as her husband blinked and whispered loving words, pale and dying to the world.

He had not entered the room, not wanting to invade the privacy, but Alexander had seen him, motioned him forward with a smile.

“My friend,” he whispered. “I shall not be able to exchange opinions again.”

The doctor ushered everyone out of the room before Thomas could say anything, allowing him only a grateful smile, which, he prayed, Alexander saw.

He was given a letter, afterwards, one he cherished and kept, but at that moment, as Eliza’s wails became louder and Angelica’s hand clutched her sisters and children-  _ his  _ children, gathered in the doorway to say goodbye, Thomas' heart wrenched in half.

How could Burr do this? His own daughter was older, married, while Hamilton would leave behind a wife and many children, young and flourishing, with no one to care for.

_ I'll take care of him,  _ he wanted to scream at the young man.  _ I'll make him pay. _

It hurt. Badly.

The nation had lost a valuable member, a genius, a father and husband- 

Thomas had lost a friend.

\- - - - - - - - - -

Snow began to fall again when he looked up to the sky from his crouched position, coating the flowers in delicate twinkles of white. He stretched, standing up and feeling his back strain from the long inclination towards the ground. It was colder, not a time to be outside.

He did not want to leave, but the sound of a carriage not far away heightened his senses. Before he could escape from whoever wished to visit the cemetery at this time of the evening, the sound of hurried footsteps froze him in place.

A pair of vibrant eyes catched his attention- the twirl of a violet coloured gown, brimming from underneath a coat.

“What do you want here?”

Thomas simply stared at the girl, cocking his head to the side to try to remember who she resembled.

“Sir, I asked a question.”

Silver tongue, angry eyes. He could almost smile. “You must be Angelica Hamilton.”

“I am. And that is my father's grave.” she pointed to the stone next to him. “What are you doing here?”

She was young, perhaps fourteen, or fifteen, but she had her fathers expression- and her mothers beauty.

“My name is Thomas Jefferson, Miss Hamilton.”

The girl’s lip twisted upwards, but before she could snap another pair of footsteps caught both of their gazes.

“Angelica-”

Eliza, while older and wearier, maintained her beautiful hair in an elegant bun and was still wearing black. Her mouth cupped slightly at the sight of Thomas. Her daughter hurried to interrupt the silence.

“What is he doing here?”

Eliza frowned. “Angelica, that is not proper to say.”

“He was father’s-”

“Hush now. Go back to the carriage.” she said, eyes never leaving Thomas.

The girl looked unhappy with her mothers wish, with defiant eyes that reminded him of her father. However, she just glared at him before turning around, her cape brushing against the snow with the same elegance as her mother. 

It was hard to look at Eliza. Even through the grief she had suffered, the woman remained firm, holding her chin high and eyes gentle with passion.

“I, Mrs. Hamilton…”

“I am happy you're here, Mr. Jefferson. Don’t think otherwise, please.”

He had expected an angry question, like her daughter, but Eliza only smiled gently.

“I see you left sunflowers. How did you know?”

“Know what?” he asked.

“My Alexander was in love with those flowers. The barley bloomed around here, but whenever there was one in our gardens, he would spend the day outside writing by it…. “ she covered her mouth. “I am sorry, truly. I shouldn't bother you with silly stories as such.”

Thomas shook his head. “No, Mrs. Hamilton. Do not worry yourself. And I am sorry for intruding- I was just about to leave myself.”

“Mr. Jefferson…. I truly hope Alexander made you know before his death, but if you do not, then…” she paused, turning her body to face him completely. “Even with your difficult time under Washington, Alexander did admire you greatly. He considered you a friend during his last few months.”

Something inside him seemed to soften momentarily, like how the snow under them both would melt as summer days arrived. Eliza seemed unchanged by her own words and turned momentarily to watch the grave again, giving Thomas a chance to wipe his eyes before she could see his facade breaking.

“I… your husband was a great man, Mrs. Hamilton.”

“I know.” she said.

He shuffled for a second before finally smiling and kissing her hand politely. 

“I'll be off now” he said simply, and she smiled back, vowing slightly before walking away.

He couldn't help but glance back momentarily. Eliza looked small in her gown, surrounded by trees and snow. But like her husband, she was strong willed, and perhaps would outlive most of them with her clarity.

Perhaps.

He left the cemetery with a satisfied feeling, vowing to return at least once every few months to deposit sunflowers. It was the least he could do to honour Hamilton.

To honour a friend.

**Author's Note:**

> I just love the Jefferson Hamilton dymanic so much. Stay safe everyone! 
> 
> Feel free to leave a comment and make my day! <3


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